


So What Can't I Do?

by bay_sik



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, POV Second Person, Romance, studying abroad, the tiniest bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bay_sik/pseuds/bay_sik
Summary: Even if we’re not together, just like always / Our smile flowers bloom / I’ll be the spring to your smile.Studying abroad is hard enough without Joshua being a smart ass, Jeonghan being a dick, and Mingyu being...Mingyu.





	So What Can't I Do?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello! This is my first fic to post here. i studied abroad in s. korea and received a mingyu request on tumblr right before i left, so once I got back i wrote this as soon as i could. i hope you enjoy it!

"Josh," you force past your chattering teeth. "You failed to mention that Korea was a  _ fucking icebox _ ."

Joshua screws his mouth into a frown, shooting a look at you. He'd be more intimidating if he weren't bundled up to his ears, a wool scarf wound so tight around his throat, he might as well be wearing a neck brace. 

"I haven't been to Korea during the winter since I was, like, six," he says bitterly. 

"And here I thought you'd be my expert guide." You shake your head. "That exchange students' chatroom should do more thorough background checks."

Joshua rolls his eyes, scuffs his boot on the lip of the curb while you wait for the crosswalk to change. "Maybe they should screen out the dumbasses that can't be bothered to download a weather app, too."

"Ouch," you clutch at your chest in mock hurt. You barely feel it through the coat, jacket, and two sweaters you're wearing. "I looked at the weather. Doesn't mean I'm any more prepared for being dumped in a frozen  _ wasteland _ ."

Joshua raises his eyebrows, almost daring you to look around the street you're crossing (at the Samsung store and the GS25, and then the three cafes, four restaurants, and then  _ another _ GS25). "Wasteland. Right."

"Where's this place again?" You drop the whiney tint to your words. You'd left the comfort of your room almost an hour ago, and as much as you'd liked the change of scenery from Sinchon to Daehak, you're itching to get into an enclosed space. Preferably heated, and most definitely serving coffee. 

Joshua fishes his phone out of his coat pocket, swiping into his maps with fumbling fingers. "It's coming up right around the corner," he says, his eyes crinkling adorably. 

"You must be excited," you say, trying to keep the knowing grin buried into the fabric of your scarf. Excited is a bit of an understatement. Joshua hasn't stopped mentioning getting together with his childhood friends that are also studying in Seoul since the very first roulette style chat that had introduced you to each other on  _ Study Korea!  _ dot com almost a year ago.

"I still can't believe Jeonghan stayed in Korea," Joshua gushes, adding a bounce to his step that he probably isn't even aware of. "He got accepted into UCLA, for Christ's sake.  _ I  _ didn't get accepted into UCLA."

You shove his shoulder, careful to not send him careening into a pile of trash that hasn’t yet been picked up from the night before. (The streets here are much nicer in this part of Seoul, south of the river. But still, the cramped streets surrounding universities are...well, universal, and there’s trash and the sidewalk is full of cracks and crowded with people. You adore it.) 

"Are you jealous or in love?" you say teasingly.

"Shut up," Joshua says around his laugh. His head jerks up to read the Hangul on the signs above you. It takes a half a second longer than him, but you make out the name of the cafe easily enough and let out a little happy squeal. 

Joshua holds the door for you, and you eagerly stomp up the stairs to make it to the main level. It's crowded with students at this time of day, and you falter without Joshua immediately at your side. You haven’t been here long, and it's hard to fight off the newness of everything when you're not with someone you know. A sense that this isn't  _ home,  _ that it's  _ different,  _ creeps along your body.

"There they are," comes Joshua's voice from beside you, shaky and nervous all of a sudden. It's just as hard for him, you have to remind yourself. Joshua is Korean, sure, but he hasn’t lived here in  _ years _ . The city isn’t like a second skin he can slip on over his current one. And now he's stuck somewhere in between Korean and American. The worry is etched clear onto his face. 

You smile and put your hand on Joshua's, hoping to add any kind  of comfort you can.

"You're right," Joshua says, even though you didn't actually  _ say  _ anything. He's eyeing a table in the back like he can obliterate it with his gaze alone. "It'll be fine."

"That's my boy." Joshua smiles again at you before tugging at his scarf and starting to stride towards the table. You settle in behind him, content with just watching for now, with letting him take this plunge first. 

There are a few girls, and more than a few boys all crowded into the long booth. They're talking excitedly, books and plates and cups scattered across the table. And even though the rapid-fire Korean intimidates you (you can't keep up with a stream like that, not even in your wildest dreams), you’ve given yourself enough pep talks that the discomfort doesn’t make you want to bolt for the exit. One boy especially perking up when he catches sight of Joshua and you approaching. 

" _ Jisoo _ ," he screeches, and he's shoving two or three people out of the way so he can stand. He's has to be Jeonghan, the long hair swept back into a ponytail, the dimples and the sharp jaw. ( _ "He's so graceful," Josh's voice had crackled over Skype. "Even when we were kids, no one could look anywhere other than Jeonghan.")   _

Joshua pulls him into a hug, much to the amusement of their audience, and they thump each other on the back the way that guys do, before Jeonghan turns, his arm still around Josh's shoulders. "This is Jisoo, or Josh. We went to the same elementary school before he moved to the states. Our very own Cali Boy~"

"Shut up," Joshua says, shaking off Jeonghan's arm, a light dusting of red high on his cheeks. 

The whole group starts to shift over, Jeonghan pulling Joshua down into an empty space. You swallow dryly, your throat clicking as you stand there, not sure if you should do more to announce your presence, or count this as an 'L' and slink away to order a coffee and pretend you don't exist. (A plant is right in front of that table by the bathroom. Zero visibility. Perfect.)

"Oh, hey," Joshua stands up again, tugging at your hand so that you step into the table's orbit.  Everyone quiets as they look at you. A hunk of cake falls out of one guy's mouth but he doesn't seem to notice. "This is my friend. We're both on exchange at the same university." 

It's funny. You can hear the bustle of the cafe around you, but like it's through a thick sheet of plastic, muffled and distant. It's almost like no one blinks; then this one guy perks up, his eyes sparkly with mirth as he says in loud, stilted English, "Hello! Nice to meet you!" (It prompts a bit of  shoving from the girls sitting on either side of him.) 

You flinch away from the loud words, hating the hot embarrassment that floods your throat, closes it. You know the guy doesn’t mean to be anything but welcoming, but it’s still a little jarring.  During orientation, English had been a saving grace, something to cling to as the ropes for getting around were explained, but it feels isolating now. The division it creates between you and the others as clear and distinct as the way the Han splits Seoul right in half. 

"She speaks Korean," Joshua reprimands the other boy softly. You almost want to deny him. Your Korean always seems to fall flat with natives. He turns to you now, still speaking Korean, but a little slower than he might normally. "Come on, sit down."    

You nod shakily, and settle down next to Joshua, thankful that you aren't boxed in on all sides. The conversation picks up again, slowly, and the girls at the table are super nice, speaking to you one at a time so that you don't get too overwhelmed. (Nayoung and Yebin and Seulgi. Seulgi is the nicest, you think; she speaks with the most slowness, the most understanding. “ _ I have a girlfriend from Canada, her Korean was shit when she first got here.” _ ) 

The boys aren't all that bad either, after all. "This is Jihoon." He points to a shorter boy next to Seulgi, and then there's Soonyoung and Seokmin, the loud boy from earlier. They all go to a private performing arts college down the road. ("Idol wannabes," Joshua whispers under his breath; you swallow the snort that bubbles up your throat.) The others, Seungcheol and Mingyu, go to Seoul National with Jeonghan. Mingyu still has cake crumbs dusting his lips. 

"I'm getting a coffee," you say, just loudly enough for Joshua and Jeonghan to hear. 

"That's a good idea," Jeonghan mutters, and he straightens up, waving at Mingyu. He fishes a credit card from his back pocket and flicks it down the table to him. "Hey, maknae! Go get hyung another americano."

"You've already had, like, four," Seungcheol laughs, but he's already moving to let Mingyu pass by him.   

"Want me to come?" Joshua asks, his voice low. You shake your head, taking the opportunity to unwrap yourself from your two outer layers of clothes. 

“I'll be okay, keep catching up with your long lost sweetheart." You get up to dodge the swat Joshua aims at your shoulder, Mingyu pausing when you nearly knock into him.

"Sorry," you say, rushed, in English. "Wasn't paying attention," you add quietly, switching back to Korean. 

"It's fine," he says, giving a small gesture for you to go ahead. The wait for the counter is short, but it feels longer with the added stress of Mingyu hanging by your shoulder. You see him try to open his mouth a few times--obviously a talkative person--but he never seems to force the words out. 

One quiet  _ vanilla latte _ ,  _ please  _ later, Mingyu leans against the counter, his fingers hooked into his belt loops. It’s more trouble than it’s worth to wrestle back to the table and then repeat the process when the buzzer goes off, so you wait with him. 

“Do you like Korea?” He says after a moment. He says it so fast that you could probably ignore that he spoke at all, write it off as the whir of the coffee machines or the bustle of the staff in front of you.

“Uh, yeah,” you say. This part is the easiest. Small talk is where you live. “It’s a lot different than what I’m used to.”

Mingyu smiles softly at that. “Different is good?”

“Different is good.” You lick your lips, hesitating a bit before saying, “If you don’t try new things, you don’t grow, right?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “I don’t know that I’d fly halfway across the globe to grow a little, though.”

“I’m brave, I guess,” you say. The laugh that you color the words with is hopefully more self-assured than it sounds in your ears. Brave isn’t exactly what you would call it. 

Mingyu’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “Way brave,” he asserts. “I went to the States when I was fourteen for vacation. I was only there for a week and couldn’t stand it.”

“Where’d you go?” The barista slides a few iced drinks forward, and the buzzer goes off in your hand. 

“San Jose,” Mingyu says, grabbing his load off the counter. 

“San Jose sucks.” You’ve never been to San Jose. 

Mingyu nods deeply, like this is the most  _ right _ thing you could possibly say in this situation. 

“Seoul is way better.” He takes a sip of vanilla latte as you make your way back to the table. “Or--have you been outside of Seoul yet?”

“Haven’t had a lot of time with classes starting up, but I want to.” 

The table has gotten much quieter as you make your approach, most everyone having gotten back to studying. Mingyu waves off Seungcheol’s attempt to stand up and let him in. Seungcheol’s expression quirks a bit, but he just passes on Jeonghan’s drink and grabs his textbook back. Mingyu settles into the booth across from you.

“You should go to Anyang. It’s right outside of Seoul, but you get a totally different feel,” he says earnestly. 

“Yeah and that feeling is being slowly crushed by boredom,” Jihoon says from a few spots down. Seokmin snickers. 

“Anyang is  _ not _ boring,” Mingyu pouts. “It’s my hometown.”

“All the more reason to never visit,” Jeonghan says. He looks like he’ll tack on another insult, but then his eyes narrow at Mingyu and the straw he’s got his lips pursed around. “Did you use my card to buy your own drink  _ again _ ?”

Mingyu freezes, kind of like a cartoon, and then glances at you and smiles. “It was nice to meet you,” he says pleasantly as he jumps up and starts throwing notebooks into his backpack. 

Jeonghan screeches something about refusing to fund a caffeine habit that is not his own as he tries to climb over Joshua and get to Mingyu. But Mingyu is already gone, hustling through the maze of tables towards the doors, and you laugh along with everyone else as Jeonghan continues to glare daggers at the spot Mingyu hastily vacated.  

“He was nice,” you say. 

“He’s a  _ monster _ ,” Jeonghan seethes. 

“I’m sure,” Seulgi assures Jeonghan, but she shoots you a wink. And any lingering discomfort melts away from your chest. You’ll be just fine.

 

  
{*}{*}{*}

 

“You’re screwed,” Joshua deadpans from across the room. 

“I don’t remember asking you,” you say from facedown on the bed. You can’t see him, but you’re eighty percent sure that Josh hasn’t looked up from his stupid graphic novel during this crisis of yours. 

“You didn’t have to. It’s in my nature to make obvious comments,” Joshua quips. “If you can’t handle going out for coffee with the girls, I’m not sure how you’re going to function socially here.”

You wish beds here were softer, so you could imagine sinking deep into a literal pit of despair. You groan into the cheap quilt. 

“You make a good point,” Joshua goes on, as if you’d actually said something. “They  _ could  _ just be inviting you out to make fun of you or embarrass you in public. But they’re too nice for that.” He pauses. “Also, you’re not the star of a B-rate Korean drama so I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

You turn your head to glare at him through the curtain of your hair. “You’re right. If this were a B-rate Korean drama, I’d have a useless nerdy friend who was just there to be an annoying shit.”

Joshua puts a hand to his chest. “You’re words would wound me if I knew you weren’t going through a challenging character-arc.”

“Shut the fuck up.” But you drag yourself up and start looking for your bag and a fresh pair of socks. “Don’t you have somewhere to be tonight?”

Joshua looks around your little single room, his eyebrows raised. “Only spending time with my  _ dearest  _ friend in the whole world--” the sentimental timber of his voice breaks around a yawn. “Yeah, but Jeonghan hasn’t texted me back about where we’re meeting. So, here I will remain.”

“No,” you say, wrapping a scarf around your neck. “I’m leaving, and so are you.”

Joshua clutches his book to his chest, his eyes big. “Come on, my roommate  _ sucks _ . Don’t make me go back there. I won’t even look in your underwear drawer for that long.”

He yelps when you yank him up by his collar. “ _ Out. _ ”

“Fine,” he mutters as you both slip your shoes on in the cramped entryway before the hall. “I’m telling the guys what a bitch you are. Maybe then they’ll stop asking me to set you up with literally all of them.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m serious,” Joshua pouts as you lock the door behind you. “It’s annoying. I shouldn’t have befriended a girl before coming here.” He looks off into the distance. “Mistake number one.”

“Mistake number one,” you say, smacking him on the shoulder. “Was befriending a smart, sexy, irresistible girl. Get it straight. We’ve talked about this one.”

Joshua’s eyes go unfocused again. “Kill me,” he whispers to the hallway’s wood paneling. 

“Have fun with your awesome roommate,” you say brightly as you get close to the elevator. Joshua’s dorm is on the opposite end of the floor, and he waves his hand over his head as he continues on his way. 

“You’re horrible and I hate you,” he responds in the same bright tone. And he trudges onward to maybe catch his roommate talking to the super rare anime statuette he has, or making love to a sock. Weirdly enough, those are the only two off-beat things he does, but he does them--according to Joshua--literally all the time. 

“Alright,” you say to yourself, stepping onto the elevator. “Let’s do this thing.”

 

{*}{*}{*}

 

Joshua finally gets a text back a few minutes later. And he nearly throws himself into his coat and shoes without so much as a backwards glance at his roommate. 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan meet him at a weird red sculpture in the middle of his neighborhood fifteen minutes later, and Joshua thanks whatever gods are listening for the break in arctic temperatures when his teeth don’t chatter around his greeting. There isn’t three minutes between the high-fives and Jeonghan leading them into a seedy looking restaurant, Seungcheol shaking Josh’s shoulders and singing under his breath. 

“You haven’t had  _ makoli  _ yet, Jisoo?” Jeonghan asks while he flips through the menu. 

“Only in L.A.,” Josh admits. 

“Nothing beats the stuff in the homeland though,” Seungcheol says, winking. He gives off a similar vibe to overconfident jocks back home, the kind who’s so sure that everyone will fall at their feet. But Seungcheol knocks his arm against Joshua’s in the booth good-naturedly and Joshua decides that he’s probably a step or two above those types that would shove him against the lockers in gym.  

They get two bottles of liquor to start and a simmering pot of soup to warm them up. 

“So, Jisoo,” Jeonghan says, pouring out everyone’s first cup. “Been up to visit your grandma?”

He nods. “Yeah, I went last weekend. Took my friend with me.”

“I still go to her  _ samgyupsal _ place all the time during breaks,” Jeonghan says, his tongue sticking out when he pokes at a floating blob of fish in the stew. “No on in Seoul can get the side dishes right like she can.” He glares at the little plates of radish on the table. 

“That friend,” Seungcheol pipes up, swirling his cup. “Just a friend?”

“She’s too much of a pain in my ass for anything romantic to be going on,” Joshua says, sighing internally as he feels the conversation heading toward a familiar direction. 

“Fair enough,” Seungcheol laughs, raising his cup. They all clink together and take long pulls. “One of our friends might be thinking of asking her out.”

“ _ Just  _ one?” Joshua laughs. Jeonghan motions for Joshua to pour him another cup, which he does. “Everyone’s been hounding about her for a while.”

Seungcheol waves away the notion. “Everyone’s just being assholes because they can all tell Mingyu has a crush on her.”

“Mingyu…” Joshua racks his head for a moment. Ah,  _ Mingyu.  _ Tall, dark, almost enviably handsome. Joshua hasn’t spoken a lot with him, but he  had just assumed it was because he got all shy and demure around the foreigners in the group and...oh. Maybe he’s just shy and demure around girls he wants. “Really?”

“I know,” Jeonghan says, making a face as he swallows the remains of his cup. “He’s never had sense about girls.”

Joshua feels heat gather in his cheeks. Okay, maybe she can be annoying sometimes, and maybe he’s said some crass things about her while he was drunk, but no one else can talk about his friend like that--

Seungcheol seems to sense Joshua’s displeasure before he can figure out how to voice it, he throws a balled up tissue at Jeonghan. “Why’d you have to phrase it like that?” He turns to Joshua, his eyes apologetic. “Jeonghan’s counted as an asshole too, remember. He just means...it’s hard. Mingyu is like a puppy.” Mingyu’s towering physique flashes through Joshua’s mind’s eye and he frowns. “He gets attached real easy.”

That’s more material to frown about, but Joshua figures unless Mingyu actually does something about his little crush, he shouldn’t have to worry about it too much.  

“I hope you’re not attached to your livers,” Joshua says, eager to change the subject. “America taught me how to drink pretty well.”

“Oh,” Jeonghan crows, a glint in his eye. “Our Korean pride is on the line.” He juts his jaw over to Seungcheol, smiling. “Let’s do this.”   

  
  


{*}{*}{*}

 

“I can’t do this,” you say to Yebin. She can’t be more than a high school student, but she seems close with Nayoung and is thus able to tag along and make your life miserable. 

Yebin throws back another soju shot like it’s water. “Come on. You’ve barely had two bottles.”

“You’re a,” the Korean word fails you with this much alcohol in your system. “Monster,” you finally say in English. 

“Aw,” Seulgi coos. She’s not much better off than you. “Yebin. You broke her.”

“No,” you plant your hands on the table, not so much to stand up, but to feel grounded to something. The world tilts for a moment. “Pretty sure the soju did that.”

“It’s cute,” Nayoung says, leaning against you. “She’s so cute.”

“You’re cute too,” you drawl. Her hair is soft and silky against your throat. 

“Come on guys,” Seulgi says, swatting at you. “We aren’t in Hongdae right now.”

You blink stupidly a few times. “Lesbians,” you say, somewhat delayed. 

“Right,” Yebin says, cracking up against Seulgi’s side. “Can’t give all these nice boys the wrong impression.”

“Who says it’s wrong?” You wink, throwing your arm around Nayoung. She shrieks with laughter and pushes you away, both of you teetering dangerously on your stools before righting yourselves. 

“I already have a girlfriend,” Nayoung tips her head back importantly, she’s slurring and barely heard over the loud rush of other customers laughing and drinking. 

Seulgi rolls her eyes. “You flirting endlessly with Sooyoung does not make her your girlfriend.”

“She’s so protective,” Nayoung drunkenly whispers into your ear. “She’s got nothing on Joohyun.  _ That  _ girl is like a tiger. But don’t worry.” She narrows her eyes at Seulgi over the table. “Sooyoung will be mine.”

There are a few ways you envisioned this initial coffee date would play out. And ending up going to karaoke and drinking well past…well. You try to check the time on your phone but the numbers are swimming too much. It’s not an unwelcome derailment of your plans, by far. 

“You guys are fun,” you say out loud. “Fun girls. I was worried. That...I don’t know. I’m glad you guys are my friends. Are we friends?”

There must be something very kicked-puppy about your look at the moment, because all three of them crowd in, laughing and pinching you to make you giggle and squirm. “Of course you’re our friend,” Seulgi says. She pours everyone another shot. “Silly girl.”

  
  


{*}{*}{*}

 

One drunken episode with Nayoung and the others starts to become a weekly occurrence. Well, maybe not the getting shitfaced part. Sometimes you really do just go to cafes and gab about boys or whatever girl Nayoung or Yebin are chasing at the moment. Sometimes Seokmin or Jihoon will tag along. 

This time though, Mingyu comes in tow with Seulgi, which is a little surprising. You haven’t seen Mingyu outside of the big group meetings before. Some part of your brain had kind of just assumed that he was attached at the hip to Seungcheol or Wonwoo, another one of Jeonghan’s many friends. But it’s nice to see him again. You remember how kind he had seemed the first time you met him.  

“Hi! How’ve you been?” He says brightly. He was already smiling when he walked up, but it seems to it get...bigger? Like he doesn’t have a big enough face for the smile he wants to give. You could probably count all of his teeth is you had the time to do it. 

After you place your coffee order, Seulgi fiddles with her bag instead of participating in the small talk that Mingyu starts up, which is unusual, but nothing that raises any red flags. The stories that Mingyu is telling take up too much of your focus for you to be concerned with much else, anyway. Mingyu seems to be the type of person that can spin anything into a happy, funny occurrence. He saw his ancient Biochem professor in the mall yesterday, and currently has at least nine theories as what he was buying (his top guess: lingerie for his mistress).

“But not, like, sexy lingerie, you know?” Mingyu says. The word ‘lingerie’ looks weird coming out of his mouth as he smiles around his straw. He has one slightly longer canine, and it flashes when he smiles. Which, is to say, constantly. “I don’t think Professor Oh would know sexy if it bit him in the ass.”

You blink at him, a little weirded out that a strange warmth of affection is spreading through your abdomen. Is it normal to be endeared to someone when your first full-length conversation is about the kind of underwear his old teachers prefer? 

“He doesn’t deserve to have a mistress if he can’t even buy her nice things,” you say. 

“That’s what  _ I’m saying _ ,” Mingyu says, leaning back in his chair like you’ve solved a murder.

“Oh  _ no _ ,” Seulgi’s voice cuts into the air like a chainsaw, loud and unexpected, making you jump a little. Seulgi doesn’t notice though, looking at her phone with a crease between her eyebrows. “My lab partner’s computer got a bug. I have to go meet him to get notes for our project.”

“Oh,” Mingyu’s whole body deflates a little, like it’s his problem to bear. “I’m sorry. Will your project be okay?” Seulgi makes a noise in the back of her throat instead of answering. 

You shift in your seat, thinking dismally that your coffee has only just come. “Do you want me to come with--”

“ _ No. _ ” Seulgi stops shifting her bag onto her shoulder. “No. It’s near my house anyways. You should stay with--um, yeah. Just stay. No big deal.”

“...Okay.” You give her an odd look, but take a sip of your coffee and decide to let it go this time. She’s been acting strange since you got here. She must be really stressed about this project. 

“So.” Mingyu fiddles with his straw wrapper for a second, Seulgi’s departure like a needle scratch to a record. He grapples to find another rhythm to latch onto. “Have you seen any Korean movies?”

“Nothing recent,” you say. “Subtitles take a while to come out.”

“Oh,” Mingyu nods deeply, like the motion does something to make the information solidify in his head. “Well, there’s this art house that does that with Korean films really fast. A lot of foreign English teachers live in my neighborhood.”

“In Anyang?” You say, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth with the way he brightens. 

“You remembered,” he pretends to gush, fanning himself. “I’m touched. But no, near Sindorim. I have a one room. My grandma left me a lot of money for my university fees.”

You nod. Nearly everyone else you know from around Seoul lives with their parents. “Cool.”

“So, we should go.” Mingyu says, leaning forward a little. “It’d be so cool. And next time we can go to an American movie with Korean subtitles!”

“You should print us out a schedule.”

“I know you’re kidding, but I totally would.” Mingyu stands up abruptly. “Let’s go.”

“What-- _ Now? _ ” You reel back in your seat for a bit, giving him a look, up and down. 

“Yeah?” He throws his coat, drawing eyes from a few girls (he’s wearing pants that cling to his legs, and they’re whispering behind their hands and shooting curious looks at you). “Do you not want to? We totally don’t have to.” And Mingyu’s expression wipes clear of all enthusiasm, his eyes going big and round and questioning as he sits down again. The contrast is a little jarring, but you realize he’s just listening for a yes or no before he proceeds, not rushing to convince you of something you don’t want to do. (It figures you’d have to travel the globe before you came across a boy that was genuine.)

“You really want to?” you say hesitantly. “With me?”

“Yeah!” Mingyu says, his legs bouncing. “I mean, it’s Saturday. Unless you have something else you have to do later.”

“No,” you trail off. You’re just surprised that Mingyu doesn’t have anything planned for later. He’s the kind of handsome-cute-happy combination that reminds you of people back home that were always swimming in dates. But, if he’s offering… “Let’s go, then.”

  
  


{*}{*}{*}

 

Mingyu is weird. He’s weird in that sort of too-good-to-be-true way. You catch yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye for most of the night to see if he’ll slip up, like maybe pull out a pack of cigarettes or kick a dog. 

He doesn’t though. But you realize throughout the night that Mingyu isn’t perfect, either. He chews his popcorn with his mouth open (obnoxious), he has this...laugh (annoying), and he admits that he prefers pizza cold (blasphemous). 

The next time the two of you hang out, at a cafe before Seungcheol and Joshua get out of class for the day, you find out that he has a retainer, but refuses to wear it (lazy). You learn a week later that once he wore the same football jersey to practice for a week straight (gross). He once told a girl he was moving to Guatemala when he was twelve, rather than outright reject her confession.

“What did you do when she realized you hadn’t moved?”

“She never found out,” Mingyu says, looking both ashamed and like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “I hid in closets whenever I saw her coming until we graduated middle school.”

“You kept up a lie for two years because you were scared of a girl?”

“She tried to kiss me when she confessed!” Mingyu defends himself. “My  _ first  _ kiss. No way was I gonna waste it on Min Jinhee.”

“That predator,” you say sullenly, fighting to keep a straight face as Mingyu whines, shaking his shoulders. “Who did you  _ actually  _ waste your first kiss on?” 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Mingyu,” you say softly. He peeks up through his lashes, still pouting, still making your stomach twist and burn in a way that shouldn’t be enjoyable. “Do you even know where Guatemala is on a map?”

“I  _ said I don’t want to talk about it _ !” 

  
  
  


{*}{*}{*}

 

Someone to the left of you in Korean class fucks up the verb exception for the fourth time when your phone vibrates against your thigh. You’ll be bored for a while, because Teacher Choi gets a certain kind of long winded when something just isn’t sticking, so you open up your messenger app as discreetly as possible. 

**Pepsi Cola:** soonyoung is  having a showcase tmrw night wanna go?

**You:** we have to go all the way across the river? ㅜㅜ

**Pepsi Cola:** unless you kno another way to get there

**You:** ur paying for the taxi if we miss the last trains 

**Pepsi Cola:** our friends are drunk heathens of course we’re going to miss the last train

**Pepsi Cola:** we’re splitting it and that’s final.

**You:** fine

“Perhaps,” Professor Choi’s voice is suddenly very loud and very directed at you. You peek up sheepishly. “If you have time to talk to your friends, you’ve mastered all the indirect speech exceptions.”

“Well…” you crack your best, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile. “You said mastered. But I didn’t say that.”

Professor Choi laughs at that, but still assigns you extra worksheets at the end of class.

 

{*}{*}{*}

  
  


Jeonghan said that the idol wannabe squad went to a performing arts college, but he didn’t mention it was a K-Arts rival school. The auditorium that you walk into Thursday night probably cost the same as the new football stadium at your home campus. There are high, traditionally vaulted ceilings, but sleek silver patterns cutting along the walls and traveling the length of the floor. The chairs look just as modern but are actually a deep grey velvet. You nearly sink through one as you settle in between Joshua and Mingyu. 

“Excited?” Mingyu whispers. It’s almost hard to hear him, one hushed whisper among a thousand other hushed-whispering voices.  

“Of course. I love,” you glance down at the pamphlet Seokmin had thrust into your hands, “traditional fusion dancing.” You frown, the Konglish title blocky as is falls off your tongue. “What the fuck  _ is  _ this?”

“Death,” Jeonghan says forebodingly. His penchant for dramatics is really quite something: he’s climbed almost into Joshua’s lap to get close enough to but into your conversation, his face serene while Josh is blushing up a storm and trying unsuccessfully to wiggle him off. 

“Death,” you repeat blandly.  

“Twenty-five dance majors mixing traditional Korean elements with...literally anything. Jazz, hip-hop, salsa. I heard Soonyoung even say that one girl is planning to fuse  _ pansori  _ with a Line Dance.” 

You feel yourself wince at that, and you turn back to Mingyu. “This sounds like it could go very,  _ very  _ badly.”

The worry you feel doesn’t seem to register to him. Mingyu’s lips spread into a simple grin. “But dancing is fun! And Soonyoung is a genius. His will be the best.” He states it as a fact. 

“You’re a good friend,” you mutter as the house lights start to dim. Mingyu hums, and you ignore how you can nearly feel the vibration of it from him sitting so close. 

“No,” he shakes his head, but even in the scarce lighting, you can see the white flash of his smile. “I really just have amazing friends.”

_ What did we do to get a friend like Kim Mingyu _ , you wonder, shaking your head as lights go up on stage, and the show begins.  _ What do I have to do to keep him? _

  
  


{*}{*}{*}

 

So, it wasn’t necessarily  _ death _ (although you could have really gone without seeing that line dance performance). Soonyoung’s performance was, as promised, the best. Or, the most interesting in a series of really weird, ‘creative’ sequences. 

“It was a metaphor for how traditional Korean life has a tendency to weave into modern life,” Soonyoung is explaining, animatedly and a little more drunkenly than normal. The group was quick to move to the second round after a celebratory barbecue outing, and now the  _ somaek  _ is flowing and everyone is laughing. Soonyoung is practically  _ glowing  _ under the praise from everyone, and you feel a pang for doubting him for even a second. 

“He’s so good.” Josh is bright red and leaning on you heavily. “Like, did you see how he  _ moved _ ? Like with his feet?”

“Yeah,” you say, patting his head absently.  Seulgi looks at the pair of you and giggles before going back to flirting with Seungcheol. “His feet are so cool.”

“The  _ coolest _ ,” Joshua insists. He sways away from you, and blinks up earnestly. “Like, do you know what I would give to move like that? I’d give up my firstborn.”

His dedication is admirable, but Joshua is so uncoordinated that his firstborn would probably only get him the ability to walk down a particularly banged-up sidewalk completely intact. 

“You ready to go home?” you ask. You don’t necessarily want to head out, not when this Chinese guy that came with Jihoon and Soonyoung is chugging soju straight from the bottle like it’s nothing over in the corner. The end result is something you’d rather witness firsthand than hear through text. But if Josh The Lightweight needs to be tucked in, it is your duty. 

“Yeah,” Joshua says, and he opens his arms, like a child waiting to be picked up by their parents. “Hold me.”

“Um,” you lean back a little, hoping that someone will swoop in out of nowhere and just--

“I’ll get him,” someone says from the side. And you turn, expecting to see Jeonghan at the ready, but it surprises you when Seungcheol, who’s been flirting with literally all of the girls in the group tonight, starts wrapping one of Joshua’s arms around the breadth of his shoulders, and hoists him out of his seat. 

“Are you sure?” You halfway stand, a protective flare rising as you see Joshua cuddling into Seungcheol’s side. Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind, but he’s a relative stranger, and Joshua...Joshua has been alright, so far in Korea. But he’s drunk and might cling too hard or say something  _ off _ , and you don’t want him to ruin anything he’s set himself up with here. He doesn’t deserve that. 

“Of course. I live like, four blocks from here. I’ll send him back to the dorms once he’s functioning,” Seungcheol says with a wink. 

Your gut is still unsettled, but you nod slowly. “Tell him to text me when he wakes up.”

Seungcheol gives you a little salute, and starts maneuvering Joshua towards the exit.  

You try to shake away the unease and turn back into the main conversation that happening on the other side of the table. It seems like it’s just a drinking game that’s dissolved into a screaming match. 

Mingyu is next to you, so you lean a little closer to him, and it makes him flinch and then laugh as he turns his head. His eyes are bright as he laughs. “Oh it’s you!”

“It’s me,” you stick out your tongue at him. “What’s going on?” The flow of Korean is too fast and too loud, crashing against your ears like cymbals. 

Mingyu’s eyes go dull as he focuses on what everyone is saying for a moment. “Seokmin is accusing Jihoon of cheating at  _ bangchib  _ and I’m pretty sure Nayoung just said that Eubin is crying in the ladies.”

“Got it.” You take another swig of your evil mixture of beer. “Are you drunk?”

Mingyu tilts his head a bit. “A little. Not too bad though. Watch this,” and he carefully crosses his eyes and taps his nose. “See?”

“You’re the picture of sobriety.”

“I know!” Mingyu says. “But I think all they’re going to do is get like, royally fucked up at this point. Do you wanna see if anyone wants to go to an arcade or something?”

As it turns out, Wonwoo and his girlfriend are just as desperate to leave the swelling throng of your friends. You leave a crumbled fifty-thousand  _ won  _ note in Soonyoung’s bag, just in case they need it. 

“I feel so bad for the owner,” Wonwoo snorts, looking back without much pity at all. “They’re going to be a nightmare to kick out.”

“We should have stayed,” his girlfriend chides. “Remember that time you--”

“Nope.” Wonwoo immediately flushes a dark red, looking straight ahead like he can will the arcade closer with his mind. “We don’t talk about that.”

She rolls her eyes, turning to you and switching to English. “Before we started dating, he recorded a drunk public confession in the street and got hit by a car.”

Wonwoo makes a twisted, almost animal-like sound of agony. “Stop. Please.”

“A  _ car? _ ” You repeat, just to be sure what she said wasn’t distorted by the groans of indignation that are coming from Wonwoo’s direction.

“Tapped, more like,” she amends. “But yeah, basically. Like, when you see the video, he lets out the  _ cutest  _ little yelp and then he’s hitting the pavement like a rock. I was hooked.”

Wonwoo has given up whining, and is determinedly looking forward, no emotion at all on his face. 

His girlfriend leans over and nudges you. “Do you want to know what he was doing for the confession?”

“More than anything,” you whisper, thinking that this is the most embarrassed you’ve ever seen Wonwoo. Maybe the most you’ve embarrassed you’ve seen a boy, period. 

“He danced to--”

“No,” Wonwoo interjects, pulling her forward, by the arm. “No more English for you. Not allowed.”

His girlfriend laughs, but complies, letting him drag her forward a few steps so she can pet at his head, managing to be both apologetic and teasing. Wonwoo’s ears are still red, but he seems to get over it quickly, and leans into her touch easily.

“They’re good together,” you say, glancing over at Mingyu. He startles, like he hadn’t been paying attention to the entire exchange. 

“Oh, them? They’re the best.”

“I don’t want to be rude but...how’d they meet?”

Mingyu smiles softly, warmth in his eyes that seems like it’d be perfect to fight off the remaining early April chill. “No, it’s okay. They get that a lot, being...you know. She did a summer internship here, and Wonwoo was taking summer classes to catch up because of his service. And, well, they can tell it better than I can.” He shifts, tugging at his scarf. “But, long story short they didn’t let it end once she went back to the States. She came back to teach English, just to see if it could work.” He seems to falter on what to say next; he shrugs lamely. “So far it has.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say, eyes dropping to the way Wonwoo has snaked an arm around her waist. 

“Yeah, gives the rest of us hope.”

You nudge him playfully in the side. “What? That you can all bag a foreign girl?” 

Mingyu laughs, bright and loud enough that Wonwoo turns back to scowl at him. “No. No, just that we can find something that strong. One day.”

Strong enough to last years. Strong enough to cross oceans. A pull that you can’t ignore. It sounds like something out of a cheesy romance movie or one of those outlandish YA books. 

You nod at Mingyu. There’s a certain kind of idealism in thinking that way, one that you’re not sure you could ever pull off. But, looking at them, and looking back to Mingyu--at his cold-flushed cheeks and the way that he’ll start humming every idol group song that plays from store speakers--you can see the appeal.  \

 

{*}{*}{*}  
  
  


The next afternoon, Joshua looks like a zombie suffering from PTSD, his eyes hollow and shoulders twitching every time a worker brushes past your table at a little cafe down the street from the dorms. 

“How was your night?” You say tentatively. Joshua hungover is usually funny to tease, like poking a grumpy teddy bear with a stick. But he looks...almost traumatized. The slow, cold feeling from when you handed him over to Seungcheol comes back, and suddenly you can’t eat the bread in front of you. “Did something happen?”

“Hm?” Joshua blinks, and seems to realize how weird he’s being. He shakes some of the discomfort off his features, which is a relief. “Oh, uh. Just some heavy stuff.”

“Did Seungcheol sit on you or something?” 

Joshua startles, color coming back to his face in way of his blooming cheeks. “What? No. Just, I don’t know. I think I might have drank absinthe or something last night.”

“It was that bad?” You say in sympathy. Something about Korean liquor is--in a word-- _ disgusting  _ when it comes to hangovers.

“...I,” Joshua pauses, and then seems guilty that he’s holding back. You brace yourself, because usually Joshua will spill anything. Anytime. You grip the mug of your steaming so hard you think it might break off in your hand. “I think I hallucinated that Seungcheol tried to kiss me,” Joshua whispers, his brows joined together in genuine confusion. Some part of your brain melts. 

“ _ Seungcheol _ ,” you repeat, little more than a whoosh of air. Your fingers relax, more out of shock than anything. “Super-straight Seungcheol.” There’s no opened, question-like element to that sentence. (This is the same Seungcheol that once smacked Soonyoung rather than play the Pepero game with him?)  

“Yeah, thanks for the alliteration,” Joshua says miserably. “Now I’ll never forget his orientation.”

And the way he hangs his head the slightest bit is heartbreaking. “Josh,” you say softly, leaning forward to grab his hand. He squeezes back weakly. “Do you like him?” 

Joshua bristles, but doesn’t let go of your hand. “I don’t know. I thought...I thought Jeonghan might be,” he stares at the ceiling for a second. Your heart shudders when the light catches the tears sitting on the surface, pulls painfully. “But he’s not. And now...I don’t know if I could handle it if I let myself like Seungcheol and he turns out to be the same.”

“Okay,” you nod, fighting to keep your lip from trembling. Joshua has never once complained about being gay in Korea. And it’s not the easiest thing. Other exchange students are more open about it, will flaunt it without abandon because Korea is temporary for them. They can have fun on Homo Hill and then go back to wherever they came from after six months. Joshua has family here. Friends. A chance to work here after college. And it’s shitty, but who he loves and who knows about it can really fuck everything up. “If you want to talk about it more, I’m here.”

“I know.” He smiles softly. “But I’m...I’m really hungover to be honest. I’d rather not add another headache to the mix.”

“Fair enough. You tried to get me to carry you out of the restaurant last night.”

“I know my white knights when I see them.” Joshua sighs, and he still looks dead, but maybe now it’s more of a mopey, cute-vampire dead rather than a recently-unearthed-corpse dead. “So how was your night?” 

“Went to the arcade with Mingyu and Wonwoo and company.”

“His girlfriend is cool,” Joshua says neutrally. You don’t think that you’ve ever seen them talking, but it’s Americans looking out for Americans. She’s not cringey and she knows Korean. She’s cool. 

“Yeah. She won Wonwoo a Goblin plushie.”

“Did you win anything for Mingyu?” Joshua says over the lip of his coffee. His words are careful, and purposeful in the way that they only are when he’s trying really hard not to make fun of you. 

“Yeah, I gave him a Wartortle and a handjob in the alley.”

Joshua literally spews his latte, his eyes bulging. Other customers look at him in disgust. (You make a note to change his contact name to  _ ‘nilla Latte. _ ) “Are you  _ serious? _ ”

“No,” you shrug, an immense feeling of satisfaction radiating from your stomach at his narrowed glare. 

“I hate it when you do that,” he mutters, and his airway must not have cleared all the way, so he goes into another little coughing fit. 

“Mingyu probably wouldn’t mind.” You grin at him, and he pushes away from the table, still gagging and motioning towards the bathroom. 

Something hot settles in your stomach at the thought though. Of Mingyu. Of doing something like to him. He’d been nice, and maybe a little flirty last night. He gripped your shoulders as you worked a claw machine, teasing and squeezing at you in an effort to screw you up. (It hadn’t worked. You really  _ did _ win him that Wartortle.) And you shared some  _ soondae  _ at a food cart when the whole group was sober and watching for the trains to start up again. 

_ “Ah,”  _ Mingyu said, holding a huge slice of sausage, speared through with a toothpick. “Eat it.”

“I can feed myself,” you said. But logic like that doesn’t really work with Korean guys. Mingyu knows you can, but he wanted to do it for you anyway, and his soft-eyed look and pouting lip made it nearly impossible to ignore him.  _ There goes sixty years of feminist progress  _ you thought as you tugged the piece off with your teeth. The  _ soondae  _ is good. Hearty and salty, and Mingyu even slipped a piece of liver onto the toothpick.  

The smile that didn’t leave his face for the rest of the night (morning?) was worth it.

So, yeah. Imagining holding Mingyu, touching him like that, of pushing him into a  _ wall _ , is kind of hot. He’d probably bite his lip to stay quiet, but if he couldn’t his noises could probably be loud, excited, deep. He’d shake, every bit of him would vibrate if you touched him that way. His big hands wouldn’t know what to do, and they might dig into the wall, or dig into your arms. And his eyes would be the worst--if he opened them, maybe he’s an eyes-squeezed-shut kind of guy--all big and pleading and thankful in the best way possible. He’d--

“Stop drooling,” Joshua’s voice cut through the air, making you blink up at him. He looks better now, but his face is still a little red from coughing. “We’re in public. You animal.”

“You don’t even know--”

“You know,” he interrupts, sitting down and pulling up a video on his phone (which means that he’s about to stop talking about this. He’s going to get the last word.) “In our group of genius friends, you guys are probably the dumbest.”

  
  


{*}{*}{*}

 

Mingyu confesses on one of the first days in spring where the weather is nice enough for you to forego a jacket for the first time in two months. Joshua says that in two weeks, the cherry blossoms will start to fall, and the group will take a trip to Yoido to go to a festival and take pictures. Mingyu should have waited until then, if he wanted to be dramatic. And it seems that that’s what he’s going for. He’s got a sack of take-out from a famously delicious (and cheap) kimbap place, and Wartortle’s head is poking out of the top of the bag, too. 

Well, it certainly  _ seems  _ like a confession. You’re not too sure. But Mingyu doesn’t do subtlely all that well.  

“Are you busy?”

“No,” you say, fingers twisting into your sweater. “You texted me. We made plans.”

Mingyu ducks his head, and for a guy who says he’s going to be a doctor one day, he’s kind of dumb. (Why does Joshua have to be right about everything?) “Yeah I just...sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“This?” you prompt, and it’s kind of mean, to tease when he’s struggling. But the warm, happy, calm feeling you get around Mingyu is intensifying about a hundred times over right now. You feel like you’re about to slide right out of your skin with nerves, or excitement, or both. (Tease him or kiss him?)

“Um, I like you.” Mingyu says. “Like, um. Like a lot. And I tried not to, honestly. I know you’re....you’re not here, uh permanently. But I--I talked to Wonwoo-hyung. He said I’d be stupid to let that stop us from being happy.”

You pause. The cherry blossoms are weeks from falling, a week from budding. But in your head, it might as well be snowing blossoms in this park two streets from your dorm. A street half a world away from home. With a boy that makes it feel like home anyway.

“Are you?” you ask him. Mingyu’s smile is soft and questioning. “Are you happy? When you’re with me?”

Mingyu nods, his mouth morphing into that grin that seems too big and too small for his face all at once. “I’m the happiest,” he insists. He started out this whole thing a good ten feet from you, but now he’s right in front of you. You look around, and noticed that you moved too, the tree you’d been leaning against when he arrived a good distance away. It’s inevitable. A pull. 

“Good,” you whisper, and the smile you give him doesn’t compare to his own, but you’re trying. You’ll try. “Me too.”

  
  


{*}{*}{*}

 

[Five months later]

Joshua looks like he’s trying not to cry as he goes around, picking up the last bits of his stuff. He and you have been sharing this tiny one-room since Seokmin went on a trip to Europe with his parents. It’s cramped, and the neighbors give you weird looks (which is understandable, a boy and a girl living together with no bands around their fingers) but it let you stay here for a few more months after school let out. 

Joshua leaves tomorrow morning, and your plane is a few hours after that. And then it’s over, you suppose. There won’t be any more racist club owners or waiters sneering at your pronunciation. No more odd looks on the subway in the provincial neighborhoods. No more drunk creeps lumbering over to “practice English” with you. No more midnight rushes to grab the last train, or days spent lazily studying or chatting in cafes. No more street food or pounding music in dance clubs. No more Seulgi or Yebin or Soonyoung or Joshua or Mingyu. 

Something feels empty near your chest. And you’d say it was your heart, but you can feel it thumping in your ears. 

“You’ll visit me, in California right?” Joshua says. Everyone said goodbye at dinner tonight. But you’re not sure how to feel about it. Everyone knows that Joshua is coming back (he killed the internship he got at the end of the semester), and everyone is assuming you’re coming back too. Joshua and you came together, you’re leaving together, you’ll return together. Right?

_ “I’m not sure,” you told Joshua, throat clogged with tears, about two weeks ago. His internship had just offered him a position in their Daegu office after he graduated. “What if I only get job offers back home? What if...what if this is it?” _

_ “Then it’s it,” Joshua said, not unkindly. He patted your hair, smoothed it away from your forehead. “But it’s something that happened to you. No one can take it away from you. And these losers won’t quit being your friend just because you’re 10,000 kilometers away.” _

What about Mingyu,  _ you’d wanted to ask.  _ How can I just leave him?  _ But you didn’t. Joshua was still sorting out the whole Seungcheol situation. He had the time though. They could try again, maybe, when he came back.  _

“I’m already seeing if my mom wouldn’t be totally pissed if I blew off work for the first week of Winter Break to come to LA,” you assure Joshua. 

Joshua gasps. “Your work ethic is atrocious.”

“Say the kid that showed up hungover  _ twice  _ to his super important internship.”

“All of the interns did, at least once,” he defends. 

“On the first week?” 

“Like I said,” he turns quickly to resume his efforts to close his last suitcase. His winter coat is catching on the zipper. “When is Mingyu stopping by?”

You cock your head to the side. “How did you--”

“Young lovers,” Joshua croons. “No way he’d going to let you leave without cornering you one last time, demanding that you wait for him, that he’ll do the same.”

“You’ve been watching dramas with Seungkwan again.” 

Joshua shrugs. “What can I say? The kid has impeccable taste.”

You’re saved from rolling your eyes too hard when there’s a knock on your door. Joshua raises his eyebrows, as if to say  _ see? I know everything  _ and you make yourself feel marginally better by throwing a pillow at him. 

Mingyu’s smiling, but just barely, when you open the door. It doesn’t look good on him, like when the sun is weak and watery in the winter.

You invite him in, and Joshua is kind enough to clamp him on the shoulder and then say he’s going to go meet Jeonghan at the bar down the street.

Mingyu settles into the couch, and you sit next to him. Normally, you’d have no problem sitting heavily into his lap, sparking a playful fight, wrestling and tickling and kissing until you're curled into his side like a kitten, your head tucked under his chin. It doesn’t feel right to do that now, though. The air is too serious, a little too morbid. 

“Are you all packed?” Mingyu says emptily. He’s looking that suitcases and duffle bags littering the ground like they’re bombs just waiting to explode in his face. You wait for a second, just to see if one of them started ticking. 

“Yeah.” You nod, your head feeling empty. “Are you...are you okay?”

Mingyu snorts, soft and weak. “Not really. But, I can’t really do anything about it.” You nod again, just to do something other than sit there. 

“I,” you say, and you have to clear your throat so that the words come easier. “I’m going to miss you.” 

Mingyu closes his eyes tight, and you hate it. He’s never looked like this, like he’s in actual pain. “Are you going to come back?”

“If I can,” you start, but Mingyu does something he hardly ever does and puts his hand on your knee to make you stop talking. 

“No,” he shakes his head, and open his eyes to look at you. “You’re either going to find a way to come back...or you won’t. 'If’ won’t work for me. I can’t--I can’t love you this much and not have a guarantee. I need,” he blinks quickly a few times. “I can’t let you do this to me.”

“Mingyu…” You say, not on a sigh, not like you’re about to let him down, but in wonder. In awe. Mingyu...Mingyu’s never said he loves you. You can tell, sometimes, when he fixes you breakfast and will draw patterns into your skin and will refill your subway card for you. But he’s never  _ said  _ it. “Mingyu you love me?”

“Duh,” he laughs, wiping his eyes with the end of his long t-shirt. He’s purposefully not looking at you, but you can see the blush of his dark skin. “Of course I love you.”

“But...you want to break up?” 

“What?” Mingyu looks like you punched him. “No. I don’t  _ want  _ to break up. But,  _ honey _ I will. I can’t be here, waiting like a smuck if you say we can make it work and then you don’t come back. I won’t stop waiting. I’m like that. And then I won’t recover.” His eyes are pleading. “You can’t  _ do  _ that to me. It’s not fair.”

It’s not fair...because he loves you. He loves you too much, he loves you so much he’s willing to end it here, because it’ll break him if you say you’ll come back and you don’t.

Something solidifies in your gut. There are a million ways that this could go wrong. You could file the wrong paperwork for a visa or not get the credentials in time or not find a job  _ period _ . But those scenarios pale in comparison to never finding your way back to this boy. 

_ “How did you know?” you’d asked Wonwoo’s girlfriend, a few months ago. Wonwoo and Mingyu were off playing darts in an American-themed bar. “How’d you know you’d uproot your whole life for a boy?” _

_ She’d smiled into her glass, but ruefully, like she’s remembering a few things she’d rather not.  _

_ “You’d probably think it’s a little silly. I left...not everything. But close to everything. For him. And don’t get me wrong, I know how old-fashioned it seems. My friends back home, my parents, they didn't understand. They thought I could find a perfectly good guy in the states. But it’s hard for him, too. His dad and brother like me, but his mom doesn’t. She’s still trying to get him to go on blind dates with nice Korean girls.” _

_ “So--” _

_ “How? That’s what you asked, right? How did I know? I’ll tell you the truth.” She gulps down the rest of her beer, her eyes on the back of Wonwoo’s head. “I never knew. I still don’t know. We could go up in flames the second I think about going back home, or his mom becomes too convincing for him to ignore. All I know is that the happiest I’ve ever been, is when I’m with him. And I didn’t want to give that up.” _

You’d thought she was kind of selfish, back then. But you understand it, now. Or you’ve come to understand it, over the last few months. 

Mingyu is the brightest thing in your life, and he’s said in good faith that your his. Maybe it is old-fashioned, or too idealistic, or certifiably insane.

“I love you too.”

Mingyu’s breath rushes out of him in a great sigh, and he seems to literally sink into the couch. “That’s...that’s good.”

“Good?” you giggle, still recovering from the great mental debate you’d just finished up after literally months of push and pull. 

“Do you know how stressed I’ve been over the last few weeks?”

“You?” you shove him. “I’m about to go back to a country I’m not even sure is my home anymore. I just decided to move half-way across the world for you.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “But you’re like the strongest person I know. You could’ve handled anything.”  _ You could’ve handled leaving me, and starting over _ , is left unsaid in the air around you. But you won’t. You decided, just now. And there isn’t a sticky, cloying feeling of guilt or regret after you made the decision. Just Mingyu sitting there in a pile of happy-relieved-ness is enough for you to probably never regret loving him, and promising this. 

Promising forever. 

Or, at least, the foreseeable future. (You’re still not the hopeless romantic that either Seulgi or Joshua wish you were.)

Mingyu spends a an hour or so just talking about normal things, nuzzling your neck. You let him inside you one last time before this long separation (and if Joshua gives you shit for fucking on the couch, you can always threaten to tell Seokmin about the  _ huge  _ lube stain you found and had to clean yourself). It’s nice, and slow, and Mingyu says he loves you a lot through it, which is nice and kind of makes it even more special. But you try not to attach much meaning behind it than that. It _ won’t  _ be the last time. 

When he gasps after you clench around him on purpose, it won’t be the last. 

You’ll have plenty of times to memorize the way he bites his lip when he tries to go harder, or faster. 

He’s always liked it when you get on top, and your hips will know bruises from his fingertips again and again (and again). 

“I love you,” you say, just to remind him, when he finally has to head to the door before Joshua gets back. It doesn’t hurt, or feel like you’re trying to say good-bye in a roundabout way. You just love him. 

“I love you too,” he says giddily. He has work tomorrow, and couldn’t get the hours rearranged to take you to the airport. That hurt, when he told you, but it doesn’t now. Not after tonight. “Have a safe flight.”

“Okay,” you suck on your teeth, and debate kissing him for a second before losing to yourself and kissing him, on the cheek this time. It’s his favorite. (Well, second favorite, but you’re not trying to be vulgar right now.) “See you soon, Mingyu.”

He has to press his lips together to avoid smiling, and he fails, like he usually does. (There’s another thing to never have to remember, to always look forward to seeing: that smile.)

“See you soon.”

  
  


{*}{*}{*}

 

Joshua leaves first. He sprang for a Korean Air ticket on his way back, and you try not to cry when you hug him. You already told him everything that happened with Mingyu, and he’s not crying. He’s ecstatic. He can’t wait until nine months are up and he’s boarding another plane. 

“I love you,” you say, only slightly muffled by his shirt. “It’ll be different, going back. After all this.”

“Yeah,” Joshua nods, pulling back and bopping you on the nose. “But some things won’t change. I promise.” 

He gets called to board and you make your way back over to your gate. There are still a few hours until you leave, but you power off your phone after sending a few last messages. You buy a thick book from a newsstand and make it about a hundred pages in by the time you stop to hand over your ticket and settle into your seat. 

The plane ride coming to Korea felt like it lasted  _ years _ , but you sleep through half of it, and watch a few American and Korean movies for the last half, and then you’re back. 

You’re back, and the air is the same, but different, and you’re mom is beaming, but her hair is different. 

You connect to the airport wifi when you power your phone back on, and there are already a flood of notifications. Instagram pictures from Seulgi and Yebin and Seokmin, all posting food and screenshots of club facebook accounts and tagging you in the comments. “For when you get back!!! More to follow.” Kakao is full, with everyone wishing you a good year, and to hurry back. Wonwoo sends a few pictures of sad puppies, along with the text “he already misses you -_-”

Mingyu has about fourteen message notifications next to his name. 

 

**11:46 pm** _ I love you!!!! Wear your seatbelt xoxo _

**12:54 am** _ If you watch Get Out on the plane, don’t spoil the ending _

**12:55 am** _ I mean it.  _

**3:34 am** _ Wonwoo took me out for chicken. I think he think’s i’m depressed… _

**3:40 am** _ Don’t ever tell him i’m acting sad so that he’ll buy me food _

**6:15 am** _I started sniffling and he bought me bingsoo this is the greatest_

**6:16 am** _ I miss you~  _

 

Your mom tries to play cool, but she’s stroking your hair like she hasn’t seen you in  _ decades _ as you wait for the parking lot trolley to take you to the car. “Who’s that?”

“Ah, someone,” you say. “I’ll tell you later.”

She nods, and your phone buzzes again in your hand, like Mingyu knows you’re there. 

**10:10 am** _ Wonwoo says Oh My Girl are flops. Is he deaf or stupid: discuss  _

Joshua was right (Sadly. Inevitably), you think as you try to stop the smile forming and start typing back a response. 

Some things won’t change. 

  
  


  
  
  
  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> uh, wow. i miss korea lol. all those things that reader misses happened to me too (and i definitely don't miss drunk creeps asking me to 'practice' with them at 3am). I actually based wonwoo's girlfriend completely on me, lol, except i never had the pleasure of finding a boo to wait for me until i get back to korea for my teaching gig. i just love wonwoo very much. and writing this fic made me love mingyu a lot too.  
> fun fact: josh's chat name changes with each beverage he spews.  
> also: i'm planning on expanding this fic into a series and giving josh and seungcheol their own story, and maybe doing some background drabbles for wonwoo/oc so look out for that  
> come at me on tumblr: brokeandjetlagged or on twitter: @mxnsxxk  
> thank you for reading!!


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